Monday, October 3, 2011


I have a terrible memory. I think it came from living under those powerlines for so long. Or possibly the half bottle of wine I drink ever three hours, but if you ask me what Elijah or Luca’s birthday is, I get flustered. I know one is right around Thanksgiving because he gypped me out of turkey one year. The other one is the day after my mom’s birthday, which is in Springtime. I’m 80% sure.

That’s why we have the blog. With it, I can remember important things like birthdays. But I can also remember tiny things that would get lost in the yearly shuffle back and forth to Colorado. Things like the time Eli pooped in the tub. Or when Luca pooped on the floor.

Aside from poop. I’d also like to use it to remember the heartbreakingly perfect moments of the boys’ lives. Like every night ay 10pm. It goes a little something like this.

Every night when Diana goes to bed, she asks me to take Elijah from our room into his own room (Lately Luca is too noisy at bedtime for Eli, so he’s been getting permission to sleep in our room).

I challenge you to find something more beautiful than Elijah while he sleeps. He’s usually moving too fast during his waking hours to truly appreciate how gorgeous this kid is. But I usually sit for a few seconds and just watch him breathe. I then try unsuccessfully to lift him without disturbing his perfection. There’s usually a quick twitch of terror when I lift him. His arms and hands palsy in different directions but then he realizes he’s safe. He sighs against my arms and I feel happier than I can describe here.

I carry him across the house, pausing in front of Diana so she can look at him and make a dramatic weeping face. Then I walk down the hall to his bedroom and I whisper to myself, “Ramming speed.” I hold him out in my arms and I use his little feet to push open his door. He never stirs when I do this.

I then tiptoe him across the room and put him into bed. He immediately burrows into his pillow.

After putting his blanket on, I tiptoe over to Luca and peer into his crib. He just as perfect as Elijah, but in an intensely boy way. He’s usually sprawled across the blankets like he just finished a case of beer. I watch him too, and put my hand on his stomach to make sure he’s breathing. Because I have to. I just have to.

And then I try to gently pull his blankie out of his clutches so I can cover him. He rarely lets it go without a fight. I then drape the blankie over him and tip toe out of the room and think, “I gotta remember that somehow.”

p.s. Sorry about the lack of funny in this post. As a consolation, today’s photo is Luca after he just ate a Halloween cookie. Doesn’t he look like a member of “Insane Clown Posse?”


Lizzi said...

So glad to know that most-amazing, beyond-description feeling of holding your sleeping child is just as powerful at 4 years as it is as 4 months.

Lizzi said...

*AT 4 months.